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by Shaddyr
Summary: Post 'Not Fade Away'.


Spike sat at a small table outside _Caffè Farnese_, his back against the recently sun-warmed wall. The heat seeped through him like a lover's caress. Muted voices babbled around him and the rich scent of fresh brewed espresso and hand-tossed pizza filled the air.  
  
She wasn't coming.  
  
He fidgeted with his lighter and cursed himself the idiot for believing she might want to see him. With a final snick, he snapped the Zippo closed. No point staying to watch tourists gawk and wander around Campo dei Fiori if she wasn't going to show up.  
  
He stood and grabbed his duster off the chair beside him. He hadn't thought any further ahead than meeting up with her. A bitter laugh escaped him as he shrugged into his leather. The only plans Spike had now were getting out of this damned country as soon as vampiricially possible. Too many bad memories. He tossed some coins on the table for his drink and turned to leave. And there she was.  
  
"Spike?"  
  
He stood rooted to the spot, transfixed. When last he'd been here, those moments he'd spied her dancing from afar had been like drops of water to a man dying of thirst. Seeing her now, mere feet away, was like a rushing waterfall, glorious, beautiful and overwhelming. He opened his mouth to reply, but words escaped him entirely.  
  
Buffy twisted the small handbag in her grasp, anxiety evidenced by the way she caught her lower lip with her teeth. Her eyes were wide, conveying a miasma of feeling that defied simple definition.  
  
He finally found his voice.  
  
"Buffy." He breathed her name softly, like a prayer.  
  
And all at once the damn broke, and she was running towards him and in his arms, crushing his chest with the force of a hug that threatened to meld them permanently into one being. And then they were laughing and crying and holding on for dear life, as if afraid that to stop touching would render the other as so much insubstantial mist. As she snuggled her head into his chest, arms under his jacket, wiping tears and snot on his silk button down, Spike felt peace for the first time since he'd held her hand in the cave below Sunnydale, so very far from here and now – and he knew he was home.  
  
They walked slowly, hand in hand, lost and unnoticed among the tourists gawking at the sights in the twilight. Buffy was the first to break the silence.  
  
"Why?"  
  
He gazed at her as they strolled along, blond tendrils framing her face, inquisitive eyes questioning with no recriminations.  
  
"Lots of reasons, love. Some of them good, some of them cowardly. But, the longer I left it, the harder it became."  
  
They stopped in front of the low fountain and Buffy trailed her finger through the water, watching the ripples she created by moving her hand to and fro.  
  
"What changed your mind?"  
  
He reached down to capture the hand, bringing it to his lips. His eyes locked with hers.  
  
"_Fa del bene e lassa dire_," he quoted.  
  
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I know I've been here for a while, but the language learning thing? Not going so well. You wanna help me out on that one?"  
  
He smiled and pulled her along as he began to walk again.  
  
"I wanted you, Buffy. That's how all of this began. On some level, everything that's happened to me since we met was because of you."  
  
He hushed her with a wave.  
  
"First, of course, I just wanted to kill you," he continued as they approached the statue of Giordano Bruno.  
  
She smiled. "Yeah, but you couldn't."  
  
"Oh, right," he scoffed. "I would've had you if Joyce hadn't happened along with that axe!"  
  
Buffy chuckled, remembering. "Yeah. Mom was really something."  
  
"A true lady," he agreed. "It's obvious where you and Dawn get your class from." They continued around the statue. "So here I was, faced with this little bit of a girl – me, the Slayer of Slayers. And I can't kill her. Well, as you might imagine, that didn't sit well with me."  
  
"Imagine?" She pulled back to give him an incredulous look. "I don't _have_ to imagine. I was _there_."  
  
His grip on her hand tightened. "Yes, you were. Ever-present pain in my arse, you and your bloody Scoobies." He looked at her intently. "We could both go on detailing the many times that we fought, all the things I did – but ultimately, when all was said and done, I was always drawn back to you, Buffy."  
  
"What are you trying to say, Spike?' She pulled free and crossed her arms as she backed slowly away from him, an impish look on her face. "That you were in love with me back then?"  
  
A smiled ghosted his lips as he shook his head. "I wouldn't go that far. But there was always that special something about you." He stepped in close, crowding her, and she reflexively put her hands up between them. Spike pressed his advantage, darting in to slid his arms around her and pull her in close. Her hands moved up to clasp behind his neck, and he sighed as she settled against him.  
  
"I started doing good out of necessity. I came back to Sunnyhell because of you, and got chipped for my pains."  
  
She laughed quietly. "I'm not taking the blame for that one."  
  
"Bloody well was you fault," he groused. His hands idly stroked her back as he spoke. "I worked for you and Rupes because there weren't a lot of other choices for a fangless vamp. And then of course, there was Red's spell-"  
  
She buried her face in his chest with a groan, and he chuckled. "Oh, come _on_! It wasn't _that_ bad."  
  
She glared up at him. "Wind Beneath My Wings?" That being said, she immediately burrowed back into his embrace.  
  
"Alright, I'll give you that one." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew quiet, pensive. "When I finally realized I was in love with you, I wanted to do anything I could to make you love me. Anything to be good enough to be worthy of your love. And I know that I bollocksed things up over and over."  
  
He felt her arms tighten around him and he smiled as he continued. "When I went to Africa and won myself this soul, it opened a whole new vista, reminded me of all the things I'd forgotten when I got my fangs."  
  
He pulled away slightly and looked down at her. He slipped a finger under her chin and gently tipped her face up to look in his eyes.  
  
"But never once, Buffy, did the soul make any difference to how I felt about you. Loved you before. Love you now. Just understand a little better about how to do right by you is all. Better learning curve with a soul. Kinda hit and miss without."  
  
He ran the back of his fingers up the curve of her cheek and gently tucked a few tendrils of hair behind her ear.  
  
"I meant what I told you before. You're the one, Buffy. I think on some level, I've always known that."  
  
Buffy sniffled, the tears that had been welling up in her eyes finally spilling over and down her cheeks. With a gentle touch, he wiped the tears away, kissing her softly, murmuring words of love and comfort.  
  
After a moment she spoke. "You still didn't tell me what it means. What you said."  
  
He shook his head, a smile playing about his lips. "Right. Well, at first I did good for to earn points, to try to get in good with you. No one believed in me, all of you doubted my motives and rightly so. Over time, I began to do good things because I wanted to. Usually for purely selfish reasons, and I was still suspect. But eventually, I came to do good because I knew it was what you would want, even if there was no benefit to me. Yet still I was treated with suspicion and distrust." He shook his head. "It was very difficult to understand that it shouldn't matter what anyone else thought or said. That became a lot more clear with the soul." His mouth quirked into a rueful grimace. "Well, a lot more clear after the First buggered off and stopped playing mind games with me."  
  
He harrumphed, then leaned in till his forehead rested against hers.  
  
"I decided when I was working with Angel and his crew that I want to do this. Fight the bad evil nasties. Help the hopeless. It makes me feel good, yeah, but more than that, it gives me _purpose_, and that's something that I haven't had. Ever."  
  
"For a long time, my purpose was to make you happy. But this soul, Buffy, it did more than clarify and give insight. It created in me a desire to have my life matter – for me. I'm not trapped in guilt and remorse like that ponce-"  
  
"Spike!"  
  
He snorted in defiance. "Well, he is, wasting years and years wallowing in self recrimination. It's not that I don't have my moments. But I'm not gonna let it eat me up. I was a remorseless vampire, and did many horrid things. And I'm not gonna anymore. And I am gonna make my unlife count for something. Angel, ponce that he is, said something that was right on the mark. If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do. So then, I better make sure what I do matters."  
  
Buffy smiled a sad kind of smile and kissed him gently before pulling away. Spike tried to reach out for her, but she stepped away, wrapping her arms tightly about her waist.  
  
"Love? What's wrong?" he asked, confused by her reaction.  
  
She shook her head and tried to smile, but he could see the tears welling up again.  
  
"Buffy. Tell me." His tone was desperate.  
  
She turned back to face him, smiling through the tears. "I'm just... I'm so very proud of you, Spike. Proud of who you are, who you're becoming, what you've done." She forced a laugh. "Even Giles had to admit that he was wrong. He said that if he'd ever had a son, he could only hope he'd have been as brave and selfless as you were that day. I know that he would be as proud of you as I am right now."  
  
Spike's jaw fell as he flashed back to the crazy evening when they'd all forgotten themselves. It made his head spin to think of the Watcher saying and feeling such kind things toward him. He came back to himself just in time to catch Buffy's pronouncement.  
  
"But I'm going to miss you." She couldn't hold back the sob. "You see, I thought... I thought you were coming to stay. I don't know how I can bear to have you walk out of my life. I don't know how I'm supposed to live with losing you again."  
  
He stood dumbfounded as she hung her head and cried, the newly risen moon behind her surrounding her with a soft, ethereal glow. He blinked once, twice, and then realized that he was the biggest git who had ever walked the face of the planet.  
  
"Oh no, Buffy," he spoke softly, shaking his head at his stupidity. He covered the distance between them in seconds and tenderly gathered her into his arms. "You misunderstood me, love. If you'll have me, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
She stared at him blankly, trying to process. "But... you said..." she trailed off, confused.  
  
"I hadn't finished." He held her tightly, pulled her head to his chest to snug in right under his chin. "I'm gonna make something of my unlife, that's certain. But the other thing this soul has made clear to me is that I shouldn't let what other people think or say stop me from going after something I think is really important, something I really want."  
  
He stroked her hair, gently rocking her as he spoke. "For a time I didn't think I was good enough for you. Thought you deserved better. But you know me. I want what I want. And I never stopped loving you. And I'm damn well not willing to let you go without a fight. I love everything about you, the good, the bad, the incredibly bitchy."  
  
That got a chuckle and half hearted slap to the arm out of her.  
  
"Point is, I been listenin' to voices in my head that tell me I'm not good enough. The Buffy voice from a long time ago, a different girl who'd just been ripped from heaven. A collection of Scoobies, from Xander to Rupes, from before a battle where we fought together with everything we had for everything we held dear. Voices telling me I'll never change, never be anything good, never be of use. Telling me I could never be with you."  
  
"You're not leaving?"  
  
He pulled back slightly to meet her eyes. "_Fa del bene e lassa dire_. It means 'Engage in good works and do not mind what others say'. S'what I'm gonna do. The right thing. Not just for all of them out there, but for me too. I'm sticking around, Buffy. I'll not give you up without a fight."  
  
"You're not leaving." She spoke slowly, deliberately, and he had the sense that she was trying to convince herself it was true.  
  
"Only leaving if you want me to."  
  
She held the lapels of his duster in a white knuckle grip. "You're _not_ leaving."  
  
"No. I'm not."  
  
She studied him in the moonlight, and he waited patiently until she was ready. After a few moments, she gave him a nod and a smile."  
  
"Let's go home."

_ fini_


End file.
